Monday, December 3, 2018

There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; sometimes it’s like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.

 Ernest Hemingway

Gerry and his brother head up to the ski hill, I head downstairs to the sanctuary of the woman cave to play with words and blast some rock.

Perfect, all around.

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I’m a writer, reader, photographer, and gardener. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things.
1 comment
  1. Lucky you—to have time to yourself for wrangling words and blasting rock! I’ll try to do the same!

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